“Who are you?” he whispered, pushing back into the corner. Saint could see the mottled bruises on his face, his cut lip and black eye. There were rope burns on his wrists and ankles. What the heck had this kid done to deserve such treatment?
“We’re not here to hurt you,” Saint said, dropping his automatic. He stepped to the bars. “We’re US Navy SEALs—”
“Are you friends of 2-Stroke…Neo?”
“Yes. We’re looking for him and a woman.”
The kid sat up straighter, hope on his face. “Chry!”
“Do you know where they are?”
He launched off the bunk and came to the bars. “Yes, I helped them escape.”
“What is your name?”
“Aleksandar Custovic. I’m Darko Stjepanić’s nephew.”
“Where is everyone?”
“They’ve gone after them. Neo and Chry escaped two days ago. My uncle and Zasha have choppers and many men. Unless you have transportation, there’s no way to reach them in time.”
Saint turned to Striker. “I saw some horses in a corral as we came in. Will those do?”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
“Take me with you, please. My uncle is going to kill me for helping them escape. I can help you look for them. They’ve gone to Banja Luka. I speak the language and know my way around.”
Striker was already unlocking the door.
Aella clasped her hand around one of his and smiled. “There was no way we were leaving you here, sweetie. Let’s get you some warm clothes and get out of here.”
Fifteen minutes later, they were all astride the horses, Alek and Aella riding together since there had only been five animals.
They pounded toward the river, and Saint prayed they would make it in time. “Hold on, guys. We’re coming.”
“We’ve got to ditch the horses,” 2-Stroke yelled as he pulled up at the edge of the forest, the river in front of them and Banja Luka’s lights shining across the rushing waters. “Too easy for them to see from the air, and they might make a good distraction as we make a break for the river.” He reached for the saddlebags and started to pull out a flashlight, several power bars and the two handguns. He tucked everything into the backpack and slung the straps across his back. “Only take what you need.”
When Chry was ready, he hit the horses on the rumps and yelled out. They bolted across the field as the sound of the helicopter buzzed above them.
He reached his hand out to Chry and they started for the river. An instant later he heard the decisive thunk of suppressor gunfire to his left as the shot whizzed past, leaving its stroke across his hair before it struck a tree.
He hit the ground with Chry, spinning and firing his automatic into the forest. Darko’s forces returned fire. A trail of fire arched toward them, chunking wet dirt and water, and he backpedaled until they were tucked in the underbrush. He sheltered her with his body, feeling her flinch with each crack and report.
She muttered into his chest, “I don’t think they like us much.”
“Their loss,” he said dryly, and cracked off four more rounds. “Let’s skedaddle. We know when we’re not wanted.” He was channeling his teammate. Saint had a fondness for the word. It made him feel closer to them somehow.
He saw movement to his far left deeper in the forest. Trying to end-run around them. Not this SEAL, 2-Stroke thought and ended that dream with a rapid burst. Men cried out and the movement ceased. He pulled Chry with him, physically pushing her where he wanted her to go, and they dug into the drape of leaves, climbing the hill. Chry moved like a crab ahead of him.
Muddy earth spread between his fingers as he dug for a hold, and clinging brush pulled at his clothes and boots. They crested the ridge and burst onto flatter land. They paused long enough to get their bearings, then ran for a half mile without stopping, dashing through the forest, crossing a dirt road, then angling toward the river.
Their boots thumped on the mud-soaked road, and he made no move to disguise it. They didn’t have time. He could still hear gunfire, though it was fading off. All that meant was that it was time to regroup to hit again.
Just then the skies opened up and rain fell through the stand of trees, drenching them.
He took her slick hand and they pelted toward the water just as the sound of a helicopter closed in. The beam of its powerful searchlight swung away from them.
He loaded bullets in the magazine. “They’re following the horses. Good. That gives us some time.” He shot the magazine home and chambered a bullet. He crowded her and they started to move again. He pushed her toward the river. It was their only hope.
They didn’t slow down as the rain came down hard, making each muddy step a challenge. 2-Stroke could smell the river and pushed on. He could see a clearing in the distance and headed for it, then stopped suddenly, his gaze moving around the woods. He grabbed her close bringing up his rifle.
The hair on the back of his neck rose. He looked down at her. “I think they found us.”
Men emerged from the trees all around them. They were all heavily armed. One man spoke into a radio, and the chopper banked and to head back their way.
Darko and Zasha.
There was no way he was going back into captivity, even if they decided they were going to keep them alive. He would rather die here fighting for his freedom.
Outnumbered, he realized he wasn’t going to make it. But Chry had a chance.
2-Stroke gripped the rifle. “I’m going to take them out. You run for the river. Don’t stop running,” he whispered. She gave him an agonized look and gripped his arm. “Chry, don’t stop.”
“All right,” she murmured, her voice strained. “Neo.” His name was like a plea, but he couldn’t worry about what would happen to him.
“Run!” he shouted and opened fire, ducking toward some brush. He kept firing, ripping up the forest, crouching low as he backed up. From somewhere behind the men, he heard gunfire, confused as bodies started to fall. He didn’t know who they were, but he wasn’t going to hang around and find out.
He turned and saw Chry running full out, almost to the water. Then the sound of the chopper broke his concentration. His head whipped toward the vehicle and he saw an RPG nose out the open door.
“Chry!” he shouted. But she couldn’t hear him with the rushing river and the roar of the helo. With her back to the chopper, she would never see it coming.
The RPG fired, streaking an arc toward the water. 2-Stroke heard the sharp whine, shock and horror coursing through him as it hit, throwing her like a rag doll into the river.
“No!” His scream was nothing short of primal. Rage exploded, coming from deep inside him, a well of it that engulfed him until he was mindless with it. Like a conflagration it rushed through his blood, crackled in his bones, and twisted his gut into a raging hellstorm. He twisted back to the chopper and opened fire, emptying the magazine, every round into the fuselage. The engine whined and black smoke poured out of the damaged helo. It started to spin and then headed for the ground.
Unappeased, swearing retribution, he tossed the rifle and turned toward the river, running like a man who had lost his mind, the rage still churning through him. He wanted to follow that broken bird and beat Darko to death with his bare hands.